


Hold Me Closer

by BollingerKnickers



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: M/M, Summer of Gotham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 05:06:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14888186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BollingerKnickers/pseuds/BollingerKnickers
Summary: Based on the Summer of Gotham prompt 'Cuddles.'





	Hold Me Closer

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Gordlock fic so I hope I don't disappoint any of you too much.

It had been only a few days since Harvey had told him, a few days filled with booze and headaches and hangovers, of creased and dirty clothes, of take outs and one too many sleeping pills. Harvey had noticed, of course he had, had felt his heart sink every time he’d seen the emptiness in Jim’s eyes, but he hadn’t known what to say or whether to say anything at all. Instead he’d settled for a comforting hand on the shoulder and a quiet “I’m here for you buddy,” when Jim’s bloodshot eyes met his, hoping that his touch had imbued the words with a meaning he couldn’t quite bring himself to confront. 

It was 2am when Jim finally took Harvey up on his offer, pounding on the door when he realised he was failing to rouse Harvey from his deep slumber. Jim was on the verge of leaving when a dishevelled Harvey answered the door, his eyes, squinting in the bright light, opening ever so slightly with surprise when he saw Jim at the doorway. Harvey stepped back to allow Jim through, noticing the crumpled clothing, the usually impeccably neat hair mussed up, and the smell of booze pervading the air behind him. As worried as he was he could have sighed with relief at the realisation that Jim was here where he could keep an eye on him, instead of pursuing his self-destructive spiral alone, out on the streets or back at his empty flat.

“Jim,” Harvey began, his voice low, still groggy from sleep as he took a cautious step forward. His heart ached at the sight of Jim, incapable of even imagining what pain he was going through and completely unable to offer him anything close to what he needed. Because there was no doubt about it, he would offer Jim the goddamned world if he thought it would help, if he thought for one second that it would take the pain and hurt away for him. 

Jim turned slightly, his eyes turned down, silent tears coursing a path down his cheekbones. “Harvey…” he managed to stutter out, before the sobs overtook him and Harvey closed the gap between them, taking Jim in his arms and holding him so tight that he didn’t know whether he’d ever be able to let go. 

“I know, I know. I’ve got you buddy,” he murmured into Jim’s hair, but he didn’t know, how could he? He had never had a child, never lost one. All he knew was that it was a goddamn shame that Jim Gordon wouldn’t be a father this time around because he couldn’t think of anyone better suited for the job. “I got you,” he repeated, over and over, his hand instinctively stroking the back of Jim’s head as he held him up and stopped him from falling into whatever very black hole he was on the verge of.

At some point, when Jim’s sobs had finally abated, when his grip on Harvey had released they found themselves on the sofa, Harvey’s comforting arm finding its way back around Jim, afraid that if he let go now he would lose him, that all the pieces he was keeping together would fall apart and Jim would only become a shell of his former self, unable to be put back together again. Jim didn’t move out of his hold however, simply pressing closer against Harvey, leaning his head on his chest, breathing in steadying lungfuls of his scent because right now he was the centre of Jim’s world and if he stayed here, maybe everything else would be okay. It was certainly true that Harvey’s presence calmed him, soothed him like no other and he knew that that was why he had gravitated here in the middle of the night, at a loss with nowhere else to go except to the bottom of a bottle. 

“I’m sorry Harvey,” he mumbled, his voice raspy, his throat sore. He was ashamed and embarrassed, not for crying, but for withdrawing into himself, for not entrusting himself to Harvey before now because he knew when he looked up to meet those impossibly kind, blue eyes that Harvey thought nothing less of him, that he could unwittingly punish Harvey with his foolish, self-destructive behaviour and know that he would still be there by his side no matter what. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for Jim,” Harvey replied, his voice soft, his hand rubbing small circles into Jim’s back. Even if he did Harvey would have forgiven him for it, just like he had done every other time. “I just wish things could have been different for you,” he added, his chin resting against Jim’s head, all too aware that this intimacy would have driven him crazy at any other time but simply grateful in this moment that Jim relied on him, trusted him and needed him enough to be held in his embrace. 

“Me too,” Jim replied as his hand found Harvey’s, interlocking their fingers before Harvey could protest, not that he would have done. On any other night he might have questioned this, questioned his own feelings and Harvey’s reactions but right now he simply wanted, no, needed Harvey, his warmth, his support, his company as he closed his eyes, finally relaxed enough to give into the exhaustion that engulfed him.


End file.
